Life Happens. And I Love It.

I have not done well at keeping up here.

Life happens.

Kids (and all their stuff ranging from art projects to dentist appointments to field trips) running, crosstraining workouts, Mike's schedule, social stuff with friends, church activities, being involved in the city's cycling organization. M will be beginning soccer next month(and later, cross-country!) and J. will be in gymnastics all summer. Once school's out, both will resume their summer swimming lessons at the Y. 

There will be beach trips and fishing and camping and kids' races and church summer camp and "college for kids" courses put on by nearby PennState Behrend.

Oh, and I'm running 30 miles a week, and I begin training for a marathon soon. That's the part where I get to burn out the stress and anxiety and planning of all the above.

 I have more going on now than I ever had. Sometimes it's just right. Sometimes it's a little much. I'm happy, though. Happy in a kind of serene way.

Even though being a stay-at-home mom has its boring, not-fun times, and having a husband who works many and irregular hours (out of town this week for work) can be difficult, I know it's a phase that is soon ending. So I'm just trying to enjoy the parts about it that are pleasant… like wearing pjs until 10:00am.

Even though being a parent never gets easier, my kids are becoming more self-sufficient. They're learning and growing into fascinating little people.

Even though I'm not exactly (yet) where I want to be with running, and worry about getting injured again, I'm feeling strong. I'm progressing rapidly and am better attuned to my body than I have ever been.

Maybe I've just learned to feel peace in my current state, even it's not at the pinnacle of what and where I want to be?

Maybe I look at a running friend with life-altering cancer diagnosis, a mom who fostered a newborn baby for 3 months and soon will be handing her back to her birth mom, and an old acquaintance losing a spouse to a heart attack, and I think: that could be me. 

Maybe I'm even finding ways to create pleasure out of the non-perfection...

Like just the kiddos and me going out for dinner. On a Tuesday evening, because lots of places have kids-eat-free then.

Like going to the library and picking up some books for these long evenings without my husband.

Like planning to run a 5k, knowing that it won't be a PR but just being thrilled to race again.

Like a slow, lazy morning of making granola and sipping coffee as cool spring rain patters on the windowpanes.

Like letting the littles take turns sleeping with me instead of tossing and turning in an empty bed (I hate my bed without Mike in it).

Or maybe it's that what we think of as non-perfection and life being stressful and messy is actually, the best in life that others long for and don't get. The widow who would give everything for a busy husband if it meant he were alive... the grieving foster mom who just volunteered a piece of her heart that she'll never get back... the runner who would trade for an MRI image of a stress fracture instead of the test result she got.

Tomorrow evening my husband returns to me and our kids. We're healthy, we're together, we're fine. In that alone, my cup is full and running over. No matter how messy or mundane life can become. 

I get to (mostly) relax Friday and Saturday and not have to worry about fitting in a long run. My upcoming 5k is Saturday night. I feel ready, despite not having raced in 5 months.The speed workouts have been on point. No PR, though, so soon after injury. I just want to race strongly for a benchmark as I launch my racing season.

The weather for the weekend is shaping up beautifully, with race night looking to be calm, clear, and in the low 50s. Mike and the kids are coming along to spectate. We'll grab some food, coffee and hot chocolate somewhere afterward. Sunday will be more R & R, and maybe a long bike ride. A few of our recent weekends have been crazy and full, so this is a welcome respite.

Lately I'm finding much contentment and pleasure in small, mostly insignificant things...

The way the newly blooming crocuses peep out of the soil. Fresh cut vegetables creating a stir-fry rainbow in my cast iron skillet. My children's laughter. The smell of laundry soap. Cookies, cooling on the kitchen table. A song in Sunday morning church that moves me to tears. A hot bath and a glass of wine. My husband's fingers running through my hair as I doze off with my head in his lap while we're watching an Indians game on TV. Sharing a piece of chocolate with my daughter. Opening the blinds and reveling in the morning sunshine. 

Life is happening and I am loving it.

Of Barriers and Bannister

Numbers can seem arbitrary on the surface, when you look at them without seeing the meaning and emotion wrapped up in them.

It sometimes amazes me that a 3:00:01 marathon does not produce the same response and emotion that 2:59:59 does. IT'S JUST TWO SECONDS! Yet, to any marathoner seeking to break 3:00- or 4:00, or 5:00- a world of difference lies in those 2 seconds. But only if they break the desired barrier... interestingly, we do not view 2:59:57 as having much, if any, more significance than 2:59:59. 

The running world stopped in its tracks and paid awed oblation when the 4:00 mile barrier was broken. Athletes had been pursuing it for awhile. They came really close, but it never mattered. Until it did. You can be sure that if a runner ever becomes fast enough to break 2:00 in a marathon (we're just under 3 minutes shy, which is still an awful lot), it will be highly significant. As elite runners creep closer to that mark, we'll all be holding our breaths again. No one will be satisfied with a 2:00:01. Sure, it might snag a few headlines, but what is that when 2 seconds less will immortalize you?

I'm guessing it's the same for ultra-runners. Who runs a 99 mile ultra? A 49k? They are 100 milers, 50 milers, 50ks (until you get into shorter races; I've seen lots of odd variations of miles and ks- but even those distances usually have a specific commemorative meaning). The course distance itself might give or take a little, but you likely wouldn't sign up for and run a designated 95k or 99 mile race (is there such a thing?) if running a 100k or 100 miler is a long-awaited goal of yours. You want the magic number. And a marathon is not a marathon without the .2. 

Deny it or own it- numbers matter. Barriers matter. Seconds matter. They mattered to Roger Bannister and they matter to us.

On a smaller scale, what's the difference between 29 and 30 mile week? A 199 mile month or a 200 mile month? In the grand scheme of running and training, nothing. One mile won't make a block of running time any more or less significant. Yet, when I hit 30 miles this week- and yes, I ran an extra mile to make it so- it felt like I had hit a certain post-injury milestone. I'm sure I couldn't run a race distance any farther or faster tomorrow because of that one mile, but in my head, 30 miles is the baseline of what it means for me to be in decent 5k to half-marathon shape. And you know, 90% of this running stuff is in your head.

I did stop short of making my 98 miles for March extend to 100 even. A mile may not make a difference, but 2 miles on top of that is a short run in itself and one I'd have had to squeeze into a rest day. Sometimes there's a fine line between hitting milestones and breaking the camel's back, and I chose to draw my line there. Next month will be close to 120, then upward from there toward the 200 or so I'll want in August and September. Not that I'm looking to hit any nice, round numbers...

But 30 miles! It has a nice ring that 24, 26, and 29 didn't. Or maybe it's just because every single run happened perfectly and felt good and well, those weeks don't come around too often.

Mon: Rest day. Did a 40 minute easy spin on the bike trainer.

Tues. morning: 3x1 mile repeats on the treadmill, for 7 miles total. 7:08, 7:05, 7:00. Finished feeling strong. Hit the rowing machine for 15 minutes.

Wed. morning: 1 hour, 20 minutes of weights, 25 minutes on the arc. In the evening, a gorgeous 18 mile bike ride in the sunshine. I heard spring peepers. It was awesome.

Thurs. evening: Finally, nice weather that coincided with my speedwork day! I skipped the gym in the morning, happy to forgo the treadmill. That evening after my husband came home from work I went to the community Little League baseball and soccer park where a mostly flat, paved .70 mile circle is perfect for intervals. There was a stiff wind, though, and it picked up speed throughout the workout. Weather Channel said 17 mph when I started and 24 mph when I was finished. But I was so thrilled to be outdoors with the sun on my face that the wind only irritated me a little--okay, maybe a lot- like during the last couple of intervals when I was both running into the wind and on a slight incline. But the 6x ½ mile repeats ended up being consistent and negative-split, at 3:25, 3:22, 3:24, 3:22, 3:22, 3:22. A 3:23 average, at 6:46 pace. 7 miles total.

Fri. morning; 1 hour, 10 minutes of weights, 25 minutes of arc. Boooooring. Rest day from running.

Sat. morning: Long run day! As mentioned in my previous bloop, my body has been catching up to the mileage increases and speed workouts earlier in the week. The resulting fatigue and breakdown has been showing up on the long run. This week I was especially prepared to suffer during my 11 miler since I'd done longer and harder intervals on both my speed days. It was chilly and windy, too. 39* with an 18 mph wind.

The first mile gifted me with a tailwind for 8:03. I took it gladly, but knew I would pay for it. Then I changed directions and was on a gradual uphill for the next 3 miles. Normally, that section is the sloggish part. Hmm. No slog today. So when it leveled out and started back down, I opened up a little. It felt good. I decided to ride it until it no longer felt good. About an hour later, my planned 11 slogfest had turned into a 12 mile smile-fest at a mostly easy effort. 

I had no fatigue or soreness. I commented to my husband that in reading the condition of my legs,  I'd never know I ran longer than I have in nearly 6 months. His candid (as always) reply? “Guess you should have run faster.” Haha. This is the guy who hates long runs because he can't sustain his preferred one speed: all out.

I would have guessed I'd run long, though, without the legs telling me. Chafing... 

Sun. (today) afternoon: I finished off the week with a 4 mile lope around the block. 9 minute flat average, at a 147 bpm relaxed, recovery heart rate. More wind! It was also 30 degrees and snowing, because apparently this area has not gotten the memo that it's April and technically spring. I wore full length tights. And a beanie. And gloves. I was still cold. 30 degrees in April is colder than 30 in February. Tonight, I did a 45 minute spin on the trainer for 40 bike miles total this week.

That's my week. 30 running miles. It's just a number, and to many runners, maybe a meager amount of mileage for one week. But to me personally, it means something: breaking the injury barrier. I'm nearing my old strength, slowly reeling it back in. The easy pace is falling, the speed is rising and the miles are accumulating. I'm staying pain-free and hitting that post-recovery place where my body is accepting, craving and enjoying the runs. I have big hopes for the summer and beyond, in breaking more and bigger barriers… some which have long eluded me.

If you think about it, we rarely “just” run. Even if we have no time goals to shatter or distances to achieve, we're running to conquer some barrier. Maybe we're shedding weight, preventing a heart attack or stroke, or defying age so we can run with our grandkids. Maybe we're on a running streak, or maybe we want to shut out the clamor of the modern world and get close to nature. Maybe we're raising money for cancer research. Maybe we're letting go of a bad memory, releasing a person or circumstance that hurt us, or seeking a salve for grief. Perhaps we're ridding ourselves of a particularly stressful day, or just wanting to feel alive and relaxed instead of stagnant and tense. Whether speed, summit or distance, whether goal or experience, whether on a grand world stage or on our small, personal journeys- barriers matter because they beg to be broken.

                                 

                                P.S. The shoes are growing on me.